


Take me, Cure me, Kill me, Bring me home

by baku_midnight



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Sex, Complicated Relationships, Drama & Romance, Dubious Consent, Kinda, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Size Difference, Size Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-17
Updated: 2017-07-17
Packaged: 2018-12-03 10:59:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11530797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baku_midnight/pseuds/baku_midnight
Summary: Memory is a complex thing. So is attraction. Lúcio’s not sure which one he’s got mixed up right now. Maybe it’s a bit of both.





	Take me, Cure me, Kill me, Bring me home

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from "Ghost Love Score", because I suppose the most dramatic song on earth suits the most dramatic man on earth. Reaper has nothing on the guy who explicitly says he will be remembered by history, ha.
> 
> Yeah I wanted to get in on the ground floor of this pairing. This is mostly smut. Enjoy!

Stars collided in Lúcio’s head as he was thrown against the bricks of a blast-scorched wall. He barely remembered switching his crossfade, fingers buzzing across the sensor panel before a blast knocked him off of his feet and sent him crashing onto the sidewalk below. His head lulled, in his ears rang a high-pitched, wailing cry, his vision was grey and his muscles felt pulverized as he lay and prayed that his amplifier wasn’t too damaged to heal him at least enough to be able to stand again.

 

It was risky, rushing into the fight, especially with Lena still out of commission and only Winston and Mei to hold the opposing flanks, but Lúcio couldn’t help it. He wanted to help— _needed_ to help, so badly it was like something in his bones was singing to him, urging him into the fray. The omnic insurgence surrounded him quickly, his speed putting him ahead of the advancing military forces, and he had managed to rescue at least a few civilians pinned down by omnics with his Soundwave before being knocked aside by the blast of a grenade. Before he fell, he thought he spotted the opportunistic marauders in heavy gear—Talon—sweeping the streets while the city was brutally occupied…but surely that wasn’t possible. He blamed a pounding in his head and a hideous buzzing in his chest for the hallucination.

 

Gunfire seemed to get closer and then farther away, fading back and forth while Lúcio’s head spun. He tried to raise his head but the pain was too much, it made him feel distant, pulled apart and open like the space between the stars. He groaned and tried to roll to his side, limbs loose and aching even as the crossfade worked into his muscles.

 

Suddenly, he watched the ground peel away as he rose into the air, as someone was carrying him. A thick, warm arm encircled his waist and dragged him upwards, his limp body not resisting as he was hefted up and carted away. He watched the cobblestone beneath him move, faster and faster and then he was lifted into the air and over the person’s shoulder, able to watch with double-vision the battle tilting and warping as it moved into the distance.

 

“W-wait,” Lúcio tried, lips sticky and throat dry, before another shockwave knocked him and his rescuer aside. The person holding him stumbled, grunting as his knees hit the ground and Lúcio heard the unfamiliar voice before he lost consciousness again.

 

 

 

When Lúcio awoke, he was in a darkened apartment, hollowed out and nearly empty, with pipes invading the ceiling and mold creeping up the walls. The crossfade must’ve done its work while he was out, because he felt strong enough to sit up, and did so with lingering caution. The building seemed to be in ill repair, but it somehow stood strong against the firefight that continued outside, thrashing and creaking behind the barrier of the door. Before he could make a move towards his escape, however, he saw the reason for its fortitude: a huge, steel bookcase had been pushed against it, along with a ragged-looking couch and scratched coffee table he had no hope of moving with his strength alone.

 

Thoughts went to his rescuer—he remembered an arm around his waist, the scent of a man’s skin, sweat-cool under his chin as he lay draped over a thick shoulder. Whoever it was wasn’t wearing armour, or even outerwear, brave or foolish or agile enough to stand unprotected in the line of fire. Lúcio looked around the room, emergency track lighting twinkling bright blue and purple along the bottom edges of the walls the only illumination in the grungy space. He nearly jumped through the drywall when he realized that he was not alone.

 

A tall figure sat against the opposite wall, one knee bent and the other outstretched at an awkward, wide angle, his elbow resting on his knee and his head lowered. He wasn’t moving or making a sound, but even in the dark Lúcio could recognize the silhouette as the one he’d seen on countless news feeds and dossiers before—not to mention in person nearly a decade ago. His right forearm, in his famous gauntlet, was lowered to the floor, where it stretched nearly from his hip to his ankle. It was the leader of Talon: codename: _Doomfist_.

 

He should’ve run, or tried to get away, but Lúcio’s instinct wasn’t to neither flee nor confront, it never had been. He stared across the room, blinking to adjust to the low light.

 

“Do not confuse my intentions,” Doomfist—or _Akande_ , as Lúcio knew him once—rumbled, not lifting his head to meet Lúcio’s gaze, “I only brought you from the battlefield because you were a medic and I was injured.”

 

Lúcio raised an eyebrow, squaring his jaw. It was a weird way to ask for help, but he didn’t expect much better from someone who believed health was a reward and not a right. He pushed up, attempting to stand but getting no further than his knees, crawling over to the wounded fighter. Akande looked up, eyes pitch-black and shielded in blue in the dark room, frame otherwise unmoving. His chest was hitching a little with hidden pain, and Lúcio’s eyes flicked to his bare breast and broad shoulders. The last time he’d seen them in person, they’d been restricted under a clean white suit, restrained by solemnity and professional pride. The body before him now was bare and true.

 

He pulled his amplifier—luckily undamaged—from his wrist and held it directly to Akande’s wounded leg, letting the vibrations work into the damaged flesh. He pressed against the twisted ankle, massaging the swelling down. Akande didn’t move or speak, eyes heavy with purpose known only to him.

 

“Not a medic, by the way,” Lúcio mumbled, “I just like helping people. _All_ people.”

 

“All people do not deserve help,” Akande proselytized, “the _weak_ do not deserve help.”

 

Lúcio glared at him, brow furrowing deeply and eyes flashing with irritation. He could twist the man’s ankle into an even worse state—in fact he _should_ , after what “Doomfist” did to Lena, and countless others before and after her. But hurting was the fashion of the enemy, and not why Lúcio lived his life. He pressed the twisted muscle back into place instead, watching as Akande bent his foot and tested out the mobility.

 

“There,” Lúcio huffed, pulling the amplifier away and sliding the crossfade to low, a soft humming of quiet music filling the empty room. Blasts echoed outside, omnic bodies creaking and snapping and clattering in the streets. It was like a horrible deja-vu, a memory of something he hadn’t even been through, just seen it enough times on video to know it almost by heart. Just like the man in front of him.

 

“Thank you,” Akande said, flexing his bare toes and bending both legs. He tested out his gauntlet, working through the minute movements of the joints and wires.

 

 “So, you’re healed,” Lúcio mumbled, “you can get right back to screwing over the world with your B.S., now.”

 

Akande glared at him. “Watch your mouth, little man,” he intoned, and Lúcio bit his lip, looking away. His face felt hot, as he tried not to get angry and failed miserably.

 

“That’s not what you said before,” Lúcio said under his breath, and Akande charged at him.

 

Lúcio barely had time to brace himself on his elbows when Akande leapt atop him, cocking back his massive fist. The gauntlet was nearly the size of Lúcio’s torso, and he flickered his gaze nervously to it. Akande was straddling his lap, pinning him into the cement floor.

 

“I am not the man my parents expected me to be,” Akande growled, pressing forward. Lúcio backed away on his elbows until he hit a dusty rug, gripping it in his fingers. “I never was.”

 

Lúcio glared. His gaze dropped low. “I _know_.”

 

How he _knew_.

 

Memory is complex; it changes over time. A decade ago, in Brazil, Prosperity Prosthetics had visited Lúcio’s village in the aftermath of an omnic attack. They set up every child under 19 who was injured in the fighting with artificial limbs, bedding down in local homes where they were welcomed by grateful natives. Back then, Akande’s pride in his work was palpable, as he wore his trimmed, bespoke suit and greeted the little children with patient ease. Lúcio had looked up to him like he was a superstar, leading him from hovel to lean-to, guiding him up and down the streets on his skates and to every little orphaned child who needed his help. Akande was quick, intelligent, handsome, and most of all, willing to help those in need.

 

But it was all an act. It was a publicity stunt at best, sociopathy at worst. Lúcio could hardly reconcile the image in his memory with the man who championed the continuance of conflict and fighting until only the strongest remained, who would put those innocent children whom he’d helped through a gauntlet of war, making them experience again what had hurt them once already, until one arose the victor.

 

The man who had visited Lúcio as a teen, who had made him blush with a fountain of compliments and espoused the beauty of healing, was a false image, a hallucination at best. _This_ was the real man, balanced above Lúcio’s diminutive form, arm cocked, bladed knuckles inches from Lúcio’s skin. _This_ was Akande Ogundimu: fear-monger, terror-bringer, killer.

 

“Nothing is given freely,” Akande said, “everything must be taken and won.”

 

“Then take it,” Lúcio mumbled, looking aside. Then lips were crashing into his.

 

Lúcio let out a moan of surprise and pain as the man kissed him forcefully, turning his jaw and pressing forward. Akande’s fist dropped down outside of Lúcio’s shoulder, boxing him in. Lips crushed into teeth until Lúcio opened his mouth, his jaw slackening as Akande pushed deeper, sliding his tongue into the cavern of Lúcio’s mouth. A demanding tongue circled his mouth and Lúcio was gasping for breath by the end, air scorching out of his nose.

 

Akande’s skin was rough like fine sandpaper as he rubbed his chin against Lúcio’s, entwining their necks, possessing Lúcio with the scent of his sweat, feeling Lúcio cower but rub back cautiously. His hips lifted and Akande surged forward, rising up on his knees and sweeping down, pressing them together.

 

Lúcio stifled a moan on his tongue, trying to look away. Pure attraction was a shifting, unreliable thing, like the sand in an hourglass—sometime, it would run out. The heat of a thick, strong body, the smell of sweat and the adrenaline of battle didn’t help keep Lúcio from making this bad decision. He wondered for a moment if Akande, or, the beast and killer the news made him out to be, at least, would even give him a _choice_.

 

Two hands—one thick with muscles and callouses from fighting, and the other a giant metal prosthetic—took Lúcio’s wrists and lifted them above his head, dropping Lúcio down onto his back. He hit the rug with a grunt as his body was jostled— _handled_ —easily into place, and he wriggled his hips to try and escape, only succeeding in bringing his sensitive parts nearer to those of the man above him. Lúcio stifled back a moan as hips pressed down into his again, looking up at Akande, fierce glare softening into a half-lidded glower.

 

Lips met his again and Lúcio _moaned_ , chest lifting, hips shifting and stuttering for attention. He bent his knees and tried to dig in with his heels for leverage but his skates skidded on the cement floor instead. A scorching mouth invaded his, Akande fed him his tongue, pressing in deep until drool was dribbling down Lúcio’s lightly-furred chin.

 

Suddenly, his mouth was empty and he was being lifted up again, a massive metal hand sweeping under his hips and flipping him over onto his front. Lúcio scrambled for leverage, reaching for the carpet and sinking his fingers in as Akande placed a wet kiss in between his shoulder blades. He yelped in surprise as Akande tore him out of his skates and pants, wrenching them down over his ass and then leaning over to lick at his bare skin. Sweat pooled at the dip of his spine and a hot tongue scooped it out, making shivers scatter all through Lúcio’s body like electric shocks. His eyes widened as he was lifted up onto his elbows and knees, and felt a mouth seal over his hole.

 

“Oh, god,” Lúcio swore, hands trembling as a tongue invaded his hole, teasing the tiny pucker and easing it to widen. He started to babble, whining out little half-formed thoughts and trying to pull his hips away. A huge hand held them in place while a tongue swirled eagerly around his hole.

 

Suddenly, the attention was gone again and Lúcio couldn’t help the disappointed moan that left his lips. He was being turned over again, this time landing on his back and scrambling up into a half-seated pose. Akande sat expectantly over him, shuffling forward on his knees until his groin was over Lúcio’s stomach, his huge thighs and knees caging Lúcio’s slim waist.

 

 _Nothing is given freely,_ right? Lúcio reached forward and started to slide Akande’s pants down over his hips. He tried to keep his hands from shaking as he sank into the waistband, slipping the tie loose and pulling slowly, slowly down.

 

A big bulge signaled something even bigger hiding underneath, and as a dark purple head sprang free of a pastel waistband, Lúcio swallowed a lump in his throat. Even half-hidden in the fabric it was massive, and Lúcio swooned as he put his hands around the shaft. When his hands wrapped around it and the fingertips didn’t meet, Lúcio’s heart thudded up into his mouth.

“ _Fuck,_ ” he let out softly. He pulled his gloves off with his teeth and set about jacking Akande’s thick cock with both hands.

 

Akande let out a pleased sigh through his nose, nostrils flaring and head lulling to the side as Lúcio slowly stroked him. Hard, rippled flesh and muscle stood pointed, curving back just slightly towards Akande’s stomach, and Lúcio watched his efforts on the man’s face. Hips began to sway slightly back and forth, mimicking thrusting, the flex of his muscles felt in Lúcio’s lap. Precum trickled from a small hole, thick, burgundy head exposed as Lúcio circled his palm over the crown, coating it in sticky fluid.

 

Carefully, Akande rose up, reaching across his chest and adjusting his prosthesis. Clicks and whirrs echoed in the shoddy apartment and then the prosthetic was disconnected, falling away and onto the floor with a crack. Underneath was a stub where an arm once was, cut off half-way down the humerus. Akande circled his shoulder, relieving the weight.

 

Lúcio stared at him, hands stuttering a bit before Akande wrapped his hand around them and encouraged him to continue. A knowing smirk crossed the man’s marked face. It was a ploy, meant to show that even one-handed, he could dominate Lúcio. Lúcio swallowed thickly as Akande pushed him back, pressing his shoulders into the rug.

 

A hand swept around his thigh, dragging him upwards so he was lying slanted in Akande’s lap, shoulders on the floor but hips raised in the air. A thumb pressed into the dip of his hipbone, dangerously close to his needy erection but Akande wouldn’t touch him there, wouldn’t relieve him. Sweat trickled down his scalp and Lúcio whined as Akande pulled his legs open wider, pulling him back so his knees were over Akande’s hips. His toes barely hit the floor behind Akande’s back.

 

Lúcio’s eyes were wide as he stared up at the massive man above him, wrists trembling with anticipation. Their position left little to the imagination, and neither did the huge shaft looming between his thighs, brushing lightly against his own. Akande swept a hand around them both, giving a short pull that had Lúcio’s back arcing.

 

Lúcio could barely believe he was doing it as he pointed weakly across the room to where his pants were discarded. A bottle of lubricant, which he used for his skates, he knew to be in his pocket, and Akande got the hint, searching the garment for the tiny white bottle.

 

“Earn what you desire,” he mumbled, tossing the bottle onto Lúcio’s chest. Lúcio jumped, swallowed again.

 

Hands all-out shaking now, Lúcio reached down between his thighs, guiding them further apart on Akande’s lap. He maintained the man’s gaze—he wasn’t afraid of him, though fright and anticipation swam hotly in his stomach, twisting down his spine. He pressed the nozzle of the bottle to his hole, flinching as the liquid slicked the skin. He took a shuddering breath and dove in with both index fingers.

 

It had been a while since he’d felt anyone else there, and toys were a pale shadow of the real thing. Akande loomed above him, watching carefully as Lúcio sunk two fingers inside himself, pulling himself open, slim digits sliding back and forth on the slick rim. He was still tight—fuck, _way_ too tight to even attempt what was before him, but he tried anyway, sliding in a third finger and then a fourth, moaning and biting hard on his lip.

 

Suddenly, Akande shifted, taking his shaft in hand and guiding it downwards. He coated the tip liberally in the clear slick, letting it drip glisteningly down the curved length. He lead the head towards Lúcio’s spread hole, nudging the tip between his slim fingers.

 

It was too soon, but Lúcio knew Akande wouldn’t spare him a second, wouldn’t allow him the luxury of leisure, and he pulled himself open in desperation to let the wide tip forth. He winced and squeezed his eyes shut as it stretched him open, just the spongey head dipping inside and holding there.

 

“Oh god, oh fuck…” Lúcio dropped back onto the carpet, blinking back tears of effort as the tip settled inside him. He held his thighs wide, fingers making indents in the sensitive flesh. He took a deep breath, steadying himself to take in more, but before he could move Akande was guiding more of himself in.

 

Lúcio yelped and sat up, slamming his hands into Akande’s belly to try and push him away to no avail as pain rocketed through him. He cried and tried to spread his legs further to allow another inch inside him, moaning and biting his tongue so hard it made an indent of his teeth. He let out a groan, shifting his hips from side to side, up and down, _anything_ to alleviate some of the pressure, practically writhing on the dick splitting him open.

 

Lúcio collapsed back down onto the carpet, steady pressure inside him making his belly quiver and his toes curl. He lay panting for another moment, trying to get used to the strain, but after hardly a moment of respite another inch was pressing into him.

 

“Please…please…” Lúcio begged, for it to stop or continue, he didn’t even know, but Akande wrapped his hand around his waist and started to pull him down onto his cock. Another inch of massive shaft was fitted inside him and Lúcio let out a loud moan, gripping the carpet beneath him. It was slow, agonizing, the pressure filling up his belly and tears dribbling down his cheeks into his ears. He sobbed as he was forced onto the thick cock, grateful that his crossfade was still running at a low frequency, worried that without it, he might pass out.

 

Suddenly, hips snapped forward and it was over, there was no further to go. Lúcio let out a sharp yell as Akande gave a grunt of effort, fully inside. Lúcio swept a hand blindly over his belly, thinking unconsciously that he could feel a bump there. His hand fell back to the floor, wrists limp at his shoulders, drawing in deep, sucking breaths. It hadn’t even started and he was already exhausted.

 

He knew Akande liked seeing him like this, pushed to his very limits. He ran his hand up and down Lúcio’s legs and thighs, across his belly and hips, lifting up his tank-top to pet his chest and pinch at his nipples. He then took Lúcio’s hand, and pulled it down between his thighs.

 

“Feel me here?” Akande whispered, guiding his hand to the place where they were connected, helping Lúcio’s limp fingers feel his stretched hole, pulled to its limit by a massive shaft. Lúcio groaned, nodding weakly, fingers tracing the shape of his hole in bewilderment.

 

He wondered briefly if Akande hadn’t had this chance for the time he was in prison, and was simply eager to satisfy himself in whomever he chanced upon first. It was better to think of himself as a meaningless stranger, a sleeve, than to think he actually might’ve meant something to the man. It was easier.

 

Finally, Akande began to move, crowding forward and then pulling back, securing Lúcio’s hips with one hand while he fucked into him. He stepped up onto his toes, feet flexing behind him for leverage as he fucked, sliding in and out by only a few inches, staying unbearably deep. Lúcio groaned, clawing at his chest, plucking at his nipples for some semblance of relief. His cock was trying to harden through the pain and pressure, and he reached carefully for it, giving a short tug, only to have Akande smack his hands away. He leaned forward, pinning both of Lúcio’s wrists above his head, pinioning him and fucking him hard.

 

Lúcio moaned with every thrust, grunts and gasps bursting out of him with every movement. He could feel every inch of it, the muscle and veins, sliding in and out of his body. Akande started to pull back, fucking him more shallowly, and the curve of him finally brought him to touch Lúcio’s prostate, rubbing hard across the needy bud.

 

“Oh, _ooh!_ ” Lúcio yelped automatically lifting his legs, only to have Akande force himself back in deeper, bypassing his wanting spot completely. “Come on…” he whined, and Akande retreated, pleasuring his prostate once again, only to stop after only a few thrusts. He continued on like that, stimulating Lúcio where he needed it most, only to move away again after a few moments.

 

Lúcio finally looked up, gaining the strength to look Akande—the killer—in the eyes. He was enjoying himself, enjoying putting Lúcio through this, not hurting but keeping him lingering just on the edge of pleasure. His dark eyes were narrow and flashed blue and purple in the reflected light, and his tongue swept eagerly across his teeth.

 

 _Nothing is given_. Lúcio’s gaze flickered from sharp, menacing teeth that caught the light, black skin and measured features, and realized he was being tested again. He pushed himself up on one elbow, and when Akande tried to push him back down, smacked him right back. He shoved at Akande’s arm until he could sit again, and then gripped his shoulder to pull himself upright. It was agonizing, still impaled on the massive cock, which sunk deeper as he lifted himself to sitting. He held onto Akande’s shoulders and began to rock up and down.

 

“Everything must be… _hnngh_ ,” Lúcio groaned, leaning close, brushing his nose with an astonished Akande’s, “taken and w-won, right?” He dipped down as if to kiss Akande, only to pull away at the last, satisfied in the way lips puckered to chase his.

 

“Those who rise up…” Lúcio cried, arching his back, throwing back his head as he found the angle he wanted and beginning to lift up and down with purpose, bouncing his hips, bringing the cock inside him to just the right spot on every thrust, “theirs are the names that will be…hmm… _mm_ …” He whimpered, tears sparkling on his lashes. He couldn’t reach down, afraid to lose his precarious balance, but his cock was singing for attention, curving and spitting precum with every brush of his prostate.

 

Akande hissed, reaching forward. He grabbed Lúcio’s dick, pinching the head and making him howl. Lúcio’s muscles clenched and he sobbed, the tightness rippling down Akande’s shaft and making him gasp with delight. He rubbed Lúcio off with three thick fingers, teasing the head often to draw little gasps and cries out of him and make his body tighten and pull harder at the cock inside him.

 

Lúcio planted his toes into the floor, gripping the cement as best he could as he pushed up and down, voice quivering out somewhere between a whimper and a sob, biting down on his lip to stifle cries as he moved frantically up and down. Hips started to stutter beneath him, short, desperate little thrusts shaking his entire body as Akande neared his peak beneath him, panting through grit teeth. Lúcio gasped and cried and willed Akande’s hand to move faster on him, rocking his hips until it was flying over the head, and with one last stroke he was cumming, sobbing and throwing back his head, seed squirting up his chest and staining bronze, flush-mottled skin. Akande came inside him with a _growl_ , pumping his hips through the aftershocks and wringing Lúcio dry, until he was whimpering and whispering senselessly for him to stop.

 

With all of his remaining strength, Lúcio tried to lift himself off, only to feel Akande’s hand grip his hip and pull him back down, keeping himself inside and Lúcio anchored tightly to him. He winced and collapsed against Akande’s chest, draping himself over a hard, sweat-cooled shoulder, body fucked loose and limp. After a few minutes, Akande released him, allowing him to pull away and slide off of his lap. It seemed to take ages for the flaccid cock to pull out of him, and while Lúcio lay on the carpet, panting, Akande lifted one leg under the knee to inspect his gaping hole.

 

Stars swirled above. A beautiful man in a bespoke suit stepped out of the darkness between the constellations, and Lúcio shook his head, trying to brush it away. Memory was complex. Sex didn’t have to be.

 

Akande sat up with his legs crossed, bringing Lúcio’s head to rest in his lap. Blue track lighting flickered in irritation as a crash shook the walls of the building. It was easy to forget they were in the middle of a warzone when…god, they were doing what they just _did_.

 

“When you have recovered your strength and the fighting has quieted, I will remove the barricade.” Akande said softly, with no further preamble. Not that Lúcio was expecting any sort of pillow-talk that didn’t involve spouting off philosophy.

 

“Such a gentleman,” Lúcio mumbled, tugging his top down a little. The carpet was starting to itch his side. His hips ached, but the crossfade helped.  

 

Akande put his hand on Lúcio’s shoulder, gently stroking down his arm. “One day, you will see things my way. The fighting will not end, and with it, prosperity will come. Nothing good comes without effort, and war is the greatest effort.”

 

Lúcio sighed, narrowing his eyes. He really didn’t want to engage this, but just like rushing into the battle, he couldn’t help it. “Your way isn’t sustainable; eventually there will be no one left to fight.”

 

Akande smirked, huffing a laugh through his nose. “Maybe the two of us will be the only ones left.”

 

Lúcio _hmph_ ed, curling up tighter on his side. The blush that spread across his nose and heated up his eyes was very much unwanted. The man he’d known was a lie. There was no need to still be so attached.

 

Suddenly, there was a crash- _fizz_ outside, and human voices shouting “clear, clear!” could be heard through the door, followed by a shuffle of footsteps, and then quiet. Lúcio lifted his head to look, and Akande got to his feet, carefully rearranging his clothes, and putting on his gauntlet. With his oversized hand he moved the furniture out of the way as easily as if it were paper, and carefully cracked open the door. The street was messy with the bodies of omnics, but clear and quiet, and he put a foot outside.

 

Akande turned one last time to Lúcio, an unknowable smirk on his face as he looked down at him. Lúcio huffed and turned away, face hot, and when he looked back, the man was gone. Lúcio sighed and fell back on the carpet, staring at the ceiling, the light from the street trickling in, showing up all of the damage and stains that had been hidden in the dark. The room wasn’t the only thing that looked better in the dark; it would’ve been better that Akande, too, had been a hallucination after all.


End file.
